


Frozen Custard and Curses

by Inphomous



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Curses, M/M, also kevin has three cats to feed okay, brent is a bitch, like im reading it over and i have no fucking idea what i was thinking, spooky ghosts, why tf did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 15:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inphomous/pseuds/Inphomous
Summary: Shane fucking hates his stupid big fat mouth.





	Frozen Custard and Curses

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a birthday gift for my sweet ass friend dildo-douchebaggins (tumblr url). Happy Birth!  
> So I'm not super amazingly well acquainted with Buzzfeed Unsolved yet, which I plan on changing. But if people are OOC please forgive me lmao. Enjoy!

“Today on Buzzfeed Unsolved we’re investigating Cassidy’s Custard Cafe. This historic cafe has been part of Portland since its roots.”

 

“Like, it’s always been Cassidy’s Custard Cafe from 1851 to the present?”

 

“Shane, no, th- the building has been there since the… founding of Portland? How do you know the founding of Portland, Oregon off the top of your head?”

 

Shane looks beyond Ryan and to the sign saying “Welcome To Portland! Founded in 1851, known as the friendliest port!” ten feet behind him. “I like to know facts, man, things based in reality.” And pointedly looks from the holy water gun on Ryan’s hip and back to his face.

 

“When Twill and I save your ass from a demon I’ll be waiting for your groveling.”

 

Shane’s face scrunched up, “Twill? Like fabric? You have a holy water squirt gun and you name it after cloth?”

 

“Nevermind, you’re going unprotected now. No more holy water marksmanship from me, fucker.”

 

Shane’s eyes go comically wide while he clutches his chest.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ryan continues, “The building by itself can be reason enough for haunting, given how old it is, but it’s the events that have taken place within that give it its recognition.”

 

“Let me guess, someone died?”

 

“Well, yeah, bu-“

 

“You realize there’s probably not a square foot of land that exists without at least one person having died on it.”

 

“That’s not the only thing that occurred, besides, not everyone stays behind as ghosts - we’re not constantly wading through dead people, okay, just occasionally.”

 

“Or, like, never.”

 

“ _Moving on_ , the shop became a custard shop in the early 1930s, and was passed down in the family until the 1980s. On May 13, 1987 a man and his child enter the custard shop for a treat. The attendant working that day, Sharon Cassidy, was drunk on the job; this resulted in the child, who had a severe nut allergy, receiving custard aptly named “nut cluster”. The child died before paramedics could arrive. The father, clutching his child’s body, supposedly cursed the family and the business. Using his blood, he traced a mark into the ground to seal the curse.”

 

“Okay, the blood has stayed there for thirty years?”

 

“I mean, it’s not there anymore.”

 

“Where is my photographic evidence?”

 

“The family supposedly wiped it up before any pictures _could_ be taken.”

 

“Or, _supposedly_ , a curse was not placed.”

 

“Well, how else would you explain the entire family dying off in the next nine months?”

 

“Bad genetics.”

 

“Or, like, a fucking curse, man. Anyway, we’ve decided to come here on the anniversary of these events in order to hopefully get some paranormal readings or experiences from this building, it’s dark past, and it’s ghostly inhabitants.”

 

Finishing up the introduction, Ryan nods to their camera dude, Kevin, and turns Shane, one eyebrow raised.

 

“If I say I know a perfect way to start out our investigation, will it bring that eyebrow down?”

 

Ryan raises it higher.

 

“Follow me, let’s grab Kevin and hightail it to our first lead.”

 

Turns out, following Shane’s “lead” brings them to a custard shop - an active, lively, not cursed or broken down, custard shop. Bright colors and everything. Shane grins when Ryan turns back to him, confused.

 

“If we don’t know the basics of something, we can never grasp the more complicated, finite points. This starts and ends with custard.”

 

“You just want custard, dick.”

 

“Let’s go eat custard.”

 

Ryan chooses one of their more garishly colored, and flavored, custard choices - cotton candy - while Shane goes for a more sensible hazelnut. Kevin just gets vanilla. What a fucking nerd.

 

Sitting at one of the bright green booths Ryan picks at his custard with a spoon, “Why the hell is Kevin sitting outside?”

 

“He said he likes to eat ice cream while looking at the sky.” Shane pauses to bring his spoon to his mouth, “I told him that it’s custard, not ice cream, but he said it’s the same thing and then fucking left. Like that wasn’t such a misinformed bombshell to throw on me.”

 

Pausing from about to take a bite, Ryan scrunches his eyebrows, “But… isn’t it though?”

 

Shane cannot believe this right now. “It’s completely different! Custard is made with eggs! It’s thicker! It can be kept in warmer places! It is entirely different and you astound me.”

 

Ryan grins, “I don’t know man, it’s pretty much the fucking same to me. Custard discourse wouldn’t even be a challenge, I know I’m right.” After his dramatic declaration he brings his spoon to his mouth with a flourish. But not without leaving a bit of garish pink and blue on the corner of his mouth. Trying not to laugh, Shane starts to lift his hand to wipe it o- wait no. That would be weird, right? Aborting his movement draws attention from Ryan, and Shane covers it up by grabbing his spoon, with a spoonful of custard, and dots some of the contents onto Ryan’s nose. Shane congratulates himself on his awesome save. Totally not weird. Nice.

 

Ryan looks up from his cross eyed staring at his nose and narrows his eyes. “Wow. So that’s where we’re going with this.” And promptly globs a large amount of cotton candy custard from his spoon onto Shane’s chin with fucking cheetah speed.

 

Shane flattens his lips into a line. He didn’t want it to come to this.

 

Thirty minutes later they’re both in the bathroom of the custard shop, holding in giggles, while they wet paper towels and wipe custard from their faces. They have a professional job to look presentable for, of course.

 

***

 

“Hey if there are any ghosts unlock this door!” Shane quiets, and when a few seconds pass with no click of the lock, he shrugs. “Guess it’s not haunted.” He looks at Ryan.

 

“I wouldn’t open the door for anyone who asks, why would a ghost?” Ryan makes a noise of triumph when he finds the key the owner of the building gave him.

 

“So we’ll just break and enter if they don’t let us in?”

 

“It’s not breaking and entering if we have a key, ass.” Ryan scoffs and pushes the door open. It creaks ominously. Ryan shivers.

 

Shane is unimpressed. “All of these buildings falling to disrepair isn’t because of ghosts or curses or any of that bullshit. Lack of WD40.” Stepping inside, he glances at the paint peeling off of the walls to the bitten through and rotting seating arrangements scattered throughout the building. “This needs a lot of WD40. Where is Mr Clean.”

 

“Mr Clean can’t get rid of curses.”

 

“But he can get rid of the curse bloodstain?”

 

“...that’s totally fucking different. Just get your sweet ass camera ready and recording and let’s get these paranormal bitches on film.”

 

“Kevin’s literally right behind us. We’re not missing anything.”

 

“Just get fucking ready.”

 

Walking deeper into the dilapidated building, Shane turns his feet with every step, avoiding exposed nails, rotting floorboards, and strewn cutlery. Shining his flashlight around the room, the beam of light catches on the serving counter.

 

“How much you wanna bet there’s still custard left?”

 

“You’d Just throw it at me anyway.” Ryan calls back from across the room

 

“Maybe we can find their secret custard recipes, like Spongebob.”

 

“Or we could ask the ghosts of the family.”

 

“They’d trick is into making a spooky resurrection custard.” Shane shoots back as he walks behind the custard counter. His flashlight lands on a scoop left in one of the mold encrusted custard tubs. Instead of having fallen to rust and disrepair like the rest of the building, the scoop is clean and shiny; it has the appearance of being brand new. Shane reaches his hand out and grasps the handle, lifting it out. “Ryan, looks like I’ve found my calling. It’s a sign. I’m meant to quit this show and continue the custard legacy.” He lifts his eyes from the scoop in his hand to look towards Ryan, grinning.

 

“Woah! That thing looks new! You found thi- Shane. Did you bring an ice cream scoop to fuck with me?”

 

“Yes, I went through the trouble of buying a large, professional, _expensive_ custard scoop so I could bring it into the building and fuck with you.” Shane totally should have thought of that. Opportunity lost.

 

“Hey, don’t blame me, it’s unusual. And you don’t _usually_ point out the unu- _Shane_?” Ryan’s voice takes a panicked edge as, during the course of his rant, Shane drops the scoop and leans against the dirty counter doubled over in pain. “Christ, are you all right? What’s up?” Ryan rushes over and starts checking Shane for injuries or sickness or a gunshot wound or cancer or- Ryan stops himself there before he gets even more worried. Kevin stands to the side during all of this, getting a sweet angle on Shane’s grimacing face. Nice.

 

“Just a stomach ache or something. Too much custard.” Shane grinds out. He grips his stomach and closes his eyes, trying to even out his breath. Ryan chooses not to point out the fact that very little custard was actually _eaten_ earlier that day. After a few moments of listening to Shane breathe through his teeth, he slowly straightens up.

 

“I think I’m good now.” He still feels dizzy and off kilter. “Let’s go get some recordings of cupboards creaking, or the wind howling.” He gives Ryan what he hopes is a shit eating grin that doesn’t look like actual shit.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ryan turns to walk back into the kitchens. “That was one fucking time! It was a goddamn scary bout of wind! All this evidence of the paranormal and you’re still like ‘fake’. One day a ghost is gonna fucking appear right in front of us and I’d like to see you explain that away.”

 

Shane‘s grin takes on a more genuine edge. “I look forward to it.”

 

***

 

It starts immediately, on the flight back to LA. Shane doesn’t notice at first, because it’s simple things like his luggage being lost, or his plane seat being switched so - instead of sitting next to Ryan - he’s stuck by a massive German man who won’t stop talking to or poking him. It’s about a week of what Shane thinks is just a string of bad luck - coffee being spilled on his keyboard, clothes catching and ripping, dropping his phone and cracking the screen - when the first genuinely worrying thing happens.

 

He decides to get coffee for both him and Ryan. They’ll be working more than usual today, putting together a travel plan for the next Unsolved Episode. He gets his usual hazelnut coffee, and gets Ryan’s horribly sweet chocolate caramel latte with a disgusting amount of whip cream. He steps out of the shop, coffee in hand, and starts his walk to the Buzzfeed LA offices.

 

He crosses the street and hears the screech of tires on pavement. Startled, his head whips up in time to see a car careening down the street, not stopping for the light. Shane forces himself to move and pushes himself back towards the sidewalk, tripping as he reaches it, spilling the coffee all over himself. The car speeds past, just missing him, and he feels the wind from the car tousle his hair and clothes. He looks around to see if anyone noticed him nearly dying, and can vaguely feel the burn of hot coffee on his skin through his shock.

 

Holy fucking shit.

 

“Why are you so late?” Ryan doesn’t look over from his computer screen, busy booking flights and a hotel room.

 

“Near death experience, the usual.” He replies, pulling out his chair from his desk. “Crazy drivers and burning coffee and ruined clothes.” Grimacing, he plops down into his chair, only for it to break, his ass hitting the ground. “God fucking dammit.”

 

“This really hasn’t been your past few days, huh?” Ryan’s staring down at Shane, body turned from the computer and hands on his knees. “What is this like… the ten billionth thing to go wrong?”

 

“Ten billion and three, actually, don’t forget the reason I’m late - and add one more unlucky thing onto that, being late in itself fucking sucks, too.”

 

“Jesus, dude, did you walk under 18 ladders and break a few mirrors? This is shit luck.”

 

“It’s just a bad week, I swear if you give me a ‘luck charm’ or something, Ryan…”

 

Putting his hands up in surrender, Ryan turns back to his computer and continues to work. “I’m just saying man, it’s unusual.”

 

Standing up and grabbing another chair, (totally not stealing it from Brent, that bitch), he slowly lowers himself down into the chair, and when it stays strong he sighs in relief.

 

“Aren’t you gonna pick up the fucked chair?”

 

“I don’t want to fucking push my luck right now.”

 

“... I’ll kick it over to Brent’s desk for you.”

 

Shane doesn’t acknowledge the flood of warmth that fills his chest as he watches Ryan use his foot to nudge the pieces of chair over to Brent’s station.

 

***

 

Later in the week, it happens again.

 

Ryan had pushed away from his desk, stretching and groaning and his shirt hitches up when he raises his arm, revealing a small amount of his tummy and he’s asking through his yawn if Shane wants to take a break to get lunch and how the hell is he supposed to say no to that?

 

They decide on their favorite pizza place, close enough to Buzzfeed that it isn’t a hassle, as well as amazing fucking sauce. Shane’s absently listening to Ryan babble, something about reading up on digits for their next Unsolved investigation, when he hears something snap.

 

Looking up, he sees a fucking piano falling straight above him. In the background he hears the movers shout, and the screaming of other pedestrians, and the quick intake of breath from Ryan and - _Ryan is right next to him_.

 

Many things happen at once. He kicks himself into gear and pushes Ryan to the side, while landing on top of him. The piano finally reaches the ground, and along with the snaps of wood and string breaking apart, he hears a sickening crunch. He feels it a few seconds later.

 

“Holy shit! Holy shit! _Holy Shit_ ” Ryan’s eyes are wide and frightened, looking up at Shane, and Shane can’t help but hold his breath. “Dude!”

 

That snaps Shane out of it.

 

His foot is throbbing, and when he turns to look at it he sees that it’s a little twisted under the mess of piano. Shit.

 

“Hooooly shit Shane, don’t fucking move I’ll call an ambulance!” Ryan’s shifting himself so he can grab his phone, all while talking constantly to calm Shane down. When the paramedics arrive, Ryan’s still laying under him and they raise their eyebrows. “I didn’t want to jostle him!” He defends. And when Shane is picked up and placed in the back of the ambulance, Ryan jumps in with him. Before he passes out, he swears he sees Ryan blushing.

 

***

 

“All I’m saying is that it could have been worse.” Brent calls from his desk. Shane grits his teeth. This bitch.

 

“Thank you for your well wishes, Brent, my heart is aflutter.” Shane shifts the uncomfortable walking boot so it sits at a different angle under his desk.

 

“I’m thinking I should just wrap you in bubble wrap, which is weird, because usually it’s you saying that about me.” Ryan keeps talking as he approaches Shane’s desk, “Are you ready? I’m sharing a cab with you, making sure you can still fucking get home in one piece.”

 

Sighing, Shane nods. He’s spent enough time here anyway. He grabs his stuff from his desk, shouldering his bag, gives Brent his best fucking smug look, and starts walking towards the exit. When they leave, there’s an Uber waiting for them.

 

Ryan runs forward and opens the door for him. “You’re obsessed.” Shane tells him as he scoots into the back, putting his bag in his lap.

 

Scooching in beside him, Ryan glances at him. “Not my fault you’re practically a damn vegetable. I’ll glance away for one second and then you’ll have fucking died.” He leans over to buckle Shane’s seatbelt, his fingers brushing Shane’s stomach and he suppresses a shiver.

 

The uber pulls out of the Buzzfeed offices, and Shane forces himself to look out the window. He can hear Ryan’s breathing, and he can feel the warmth of his body heat through the contact of their shoulders. Shane thinks Ryan might have started using a new shampoo. After a few minutes, Ryan speaks up.

 

“Thank you, by the way.”

 

Shane turns to look at him, and he’s met with an earnest looking Ryan.

 

“For pushing me out of the way of the piano.”

 

Shane scoffs, “You can’t make Unsolved episodes if you’re a pancake. Besides, it’s _my_ cursed few weeks, not yours. Get your own.”

 

Grinning, Ryan replies, “You’re such a charmer. And, hey, did you say cursed? We can work on removing that _paranormal_ hinderance.”

 

“I’ll jump out of this car.”

 

***

 

When Shane finally lies down for sleep that night, he lets it a sigh of relief at finally being comfortable and rested.

 

Or not.

 

He finds himself in a custard shop, completely empty except for one person. The man keeps staring at him, and raises a finger to beckon him closer. Shane figures, what the hell, it’s his dream he’ll do what he wants. He turns and opens the door to leave the shop, when the ground opens and swallows him up. He’s spat out, and falling, and screaming, and he lands in a chair right across from the man. Looking up, he sees the ceiling close itself up.

 

“Was I just shit out of a ceiling?”

 

The corner of the man's lips tug up a bit, then pull down into a frown. They both sit there for a minute, the man is clearly studying Shane and it looks like he doesn’t enjoy what he sees.

 

“Why am I being evaluated in my own dream? I swear if this is one of those ‘you get a job but show up naked the next day dreams’ I’m quitting sleep forever.”

 

“That can be arranged.” The man grins fully this time. Shane wishes he could say it was a nice one. “You’ve forgone all the opportunities I’ve given you for a quick death. My kindness has run thin.”

 

“Shit. This is an ‘I die’ dream.”

 

“You will wish it were that easy. I’m done with small mercies now.” The man leans forward and leans his chin on his fist, “Have you ever had to watch someone die?”

 

“Uh…”

 

“One day away from getting an epipen. Of course.”

 

“I don’t know what your talking about.”

 

He slams his fist against the table, eyes glaring. “Have you forgotten that easily? Carelessness like that gets people killed. You can’t handle wiping your own ass, nevermind holding people’s lives in your hands!”

 

“Dude I work for Buzzfeed.”

 

“Nonetheless,” he completely ignores him, “I’ve seemed to right this and I won’t stop now. Not ever. The only positive for what I have planned for you is that you have time to get your affairs in order. At least have the decency to thank me for that.” He raises one eyebrow.

 

“You’re talking about killing me and then expect me to thank you? What the fuck is up with my subconscious?”

 

“Typical.” The man spits out before snapping the fingers of his left hand. Shane feels a wave of paralysis take him over until he can’t breathe.

 

Wow, uh. _He actually can’t breathe_. The man watches him gasp before waving his hand asif shooing Shane away.

 

Gasping awake and sitting up in the bed, Shane feels his sweat cooling on his neck and looks around his room.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

***

 

Shane rubs his eyes while sitting at his desk. He wasn’t able to fall back asleep after that weird fucking dream.

 

“Here, you’re exhaustion is giving _my_ exhaustion exhaustion.” Ryan plops a warm cup of coffee on Shane’s desk. “Hazelnut, you boring son of a bitch.”

 

Sighing in relief and mumbling his thanks, Shane gulps down three mouthfuls of coffee before he starts to feel hot. Like, really hot. Not hot from the coffee, but like, really really hot and itchy. He opens his mouth to ask Ryan where the hell he got this coffee when he realizes he can’t fucking breathe. He’s trying to take in air, he _needs_ to speak, but his throat won’t open, his throat won’t open and he can’t breathe and people are starting to look at him and - when did he end up on the floor? He’s clawing at his throat, he needs to tell Ryan that something's wrong and he can’t breathe and Ryan is next to him and gripping his hands and he hears shouting but he can’t _listen_ to it. Suddenly, he feels a prick of a needle on his thigh, and it’s literally a breath of fresh air. He’s choking and gasping and trying to take in as much as possible when he starts to understand the words being said around him.

 

“We need to call an ambulance!” That’s Ryan’s voice and, hell no. He’s not spending another day in the back of an ambulance. He can breathe now. He’s fine. He’s fine.

 

“I-I’m good.” He grips Ryan’s hands tighter and starts to sit up, ignoring the wave of dizziness as he does. “It was, what, an allergic reaction? I’m fine, I’m good, I just need water.”

 

Ryan runs to grant his request, when he returns he hands him the glass and asks, “You have any idea what it was a reaction to? The coffee? I got that from our usual place, oh god, did I make a mistake? Have you been fucking with me this entire time with ‘hazelnut this hazelnut that’ and you're actually fucking allergic?”

 

Well. That discounts Shane’s theory of something different with the coffee. “You’re good. I guess… I am now though? Sometimes people develop allergies to things they constantly expose themselves to… shit what the hell am I gonna drink for coffee now?”

 

Ryan gives a weak grin, “You can start drinking mi-“

 

“Absolutely not, the only difference would be me dying from sugar overload instead of an allergy.” He grumbles and takes a drink of water. “Oh, who had the epipen by the way?”

 

Bernice, god how her parents must have hated her to give her that name, steps forward. “I always have a few stashed around, I never know when someone’s got peanuts anywhere. Here, take one, it’ll keep you safe until you can order your own.” She hands Shane an epipen from her desk, he accepts it while thanking her.

 

Huh. Guess he needs to update his medical file.

 

***

 

It keeps happening.

 

Later in the day, Ryan drags him out to get food. They get shitty Hot Dogs from a vendor and Shane only goes along with it because he likes how Ryan laughs when he tries insane combinations of hot dog toppings. He likes the way Ryan laughs, until he stops and he’s stuck for a second time that day in the thigh with a stupid fucking epipen. He can’t touch anything without getting a rash. He gets hives from anything but water. He’s decided he’s going to fucking not consume or touch anything until his doctor appointment in a few days. This is easier said than done.

 

Because, when he returns home from his shit day, barely able to fend Ryan off from coming up to his apartment with him and tucking him in or something equally as ridiculous, he can’t fucking sleep. He lies there for hours, eyes closed. He tries every fucking sleeping position. He tries every ration of covered and uncovered. His brain won’t fucking shut down. He finally gives up and goes to his kitchen to make coffee, but then remembers he can’t do that without dying and gets pissed off. He spends the rest of the night angrily watching Cosmos and futile hoping that Neil Degrasse Tyson’s sweet vocal chords will lull him to sleep.

 

On his way to work in the morning, he thinks he’s being followed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a man at every crosswalk, in every window reflection, in every crowd of pedestrians.

 

It isn’t until he’s about to enter Buzzfeed that he sees the full profile of the man in the reflection of the glass on the entrance doors. Shane turns around, ready to confront this asshole who’s been stalking him to work, but no ones there.

 

He doesn’t know why the man from his dreams won’t seem to stay there.

 

***

 

It’s been four days. He can’t sleep. He can’t eat. He keeps seeing this man everywhere. The doctor comes back with his blood work, saying that he has no allergies whatsoever, that maybe his body is rejecting nutrition because of chemicals that got into the food, you can’t be too sure with how much you eat out, or because he’s not getting any sleep, have you seen your eyes? Take two days off and sleep, if you’re still rejecting food come back and we’ll look deeper into it, I have other patients, you know.

 

He’s pissed. He gets an Uber to the offices, flips off the shadow following him, and makes his way to his desk. The custard episode of finished, edited, and posted; so Ryan and him take a congratulatory 20 minutes of their work day to watch it, scroll through the comments. It’s around the part where they finally enter the custard shop when a new comment catches his eye.

 

 _’I thought this sounded familiar, my mom kept talking about it, she was there! This article talks about it more, if any of you are interested -_ [ _Custard Cills Cid_ ](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/r7mRF0xamG4/maxresdefault.jpg) _’_

 

That was a very distasteful play on alliteration. Shane was interested.

 

Clicking on the link brings him to some Portland-local news source. They go over witness statements, there’s information on the charges being brought against the clerk, the usual stuff. Then he gets to the part where it talks about the victims. The son was _one day away from getting an epipen_ , he _died in his father’s arms_. Shane’s heard this somewhere before. He scrolls down farther and comes face to face with an image of the two, father and son, and Shane completely fucking powers down for a few seconds.

 

_That is the man from his dreams. That is his shadow._

 

He hears in the background, distantly, the audio from the recent episode.

 

_‘Ryan, looks like I’ve found my calling. It’s a sign. I’m meant to quit this show and continue the custard legacy.’_

 

Fuck him and his enormous stupid fucking mouth.

 

It could be his lowered cognitive function, or the fact that his stomach is eating itself and he just wants it to _stop_. Hell, it’s probably both. He distantly thinks, way back in his mind, that when he’s back to actually functioning he’s going to hate himself.

 

“I think I’m cursed.”

 

“If you finish that sentence by saying ‘with amazingly good looks’ I’ll actually find a curse to put on you.”

 

“Ryan.” He’s starting to panic now. “I’m cursed.”

 

Ryan must have heard the wobble in his voice, because he looks over at him with confused concern. “Are you like… okay?”

 

Godammit, he knows he’s an ass when it comes to this shit, and he knows this deserves some skepticism if it’s coming from _him_ , he _knows_ this.

But, fuck, he doesn’t know what to do if Ryan doesn’t back him on this. He feels like he’s dizzy, and realizes he’s starting to hyperventilate.

 

“Ryan, I know, but this man,” he points to the image of the father and son, “has showed up in my dreams and he’s following me and I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and his kid died from an allergic reaction and I’m suddenly allergic to fucking everything and _fuck_ I said I’d continue the custard tradition and the curse was on everyone in that custard family and-“

 

“Hey, Hey, Shane, breathe.” Ryan’s grasping his shoulders, “Holy shit, I’ve never seen you freak out like this, yeah, okay, we can look into this.” He swiftly turns in his chair and moves to his keyboard. He searches ‘how to break a curse’ and clicks on the first result.

 

Shane is fucking doomed.

 

“Okay, so, this says that we need to break the source of the curse - destroy it or something. And this is legit, it’s written by the voodoo queen we visited that one time, remember? But yeah, hey, I’m gonna book is a flight to Portland, pack up our equipment, and when this is over I’m rubbing it in your face that I was so fucking right.” He sounds calm, but Shane can see his hand shaking while holding the mouse. “The flight I can get us is in the morning tomorrow, so get some sle- uh, pack up some stuff, okay?”

 

***

 

“Okay, you get the top two drawers, I get the bottom two.” Ryan opens his respective drawers and dumps his clothes in them. Shane, slowly, methodically, starts neatly placing his folded clothes in his. This is taking a lot of his concentration. He’s going on 5 days and he. This is hard to focus on. His hands are shaking.

 

“So, first, we need to go back to the custard shop.”

 

The custard shop. He thinks back to Ryan and him globbing custard on each other. Ryan’s smile. Why would they need to go back there? Get more custard? Ryan would be the only one able to eat it though.

 

“I’ve contacted the landlord and she’s willing to give us the keys again, I may or may not have told her it was a for a follow up Unsolved vid, which, in a way I guess it is.”

 

Oh, yeah, wrong custard place.

 

On the way there, Ryan won’t stop talking, and Shane can’t concentrate.

 

He likes how Ryan’s voice sounds, though. Even when it gets that panicked edge when he realizes nothing is sinking in.

 

Sorting through the scraps of garbage and whatever else in the abandoned building makes Shane feel like he’s fucking floating. It’s so much to concentrate on at once, and Ryan is patient with him but some part of him can tell that he’s being a bumbling fucking idiot. They don’t make any progress.

 

On the way back to the hotel, Shane realizes something. He’s starting to blackout at random intervals. See a few things that aren’t really there. He closes his eyes and opens them, he’s in the hotel room. There are some mice running around under the bed, and Ryan calls his name, laughing, saying that there would be more paranormal evidence around if people took it more seriously. Shane says there would be more evidence if it actually existed.

 

“Shane?”

 

Ryan’s just got out of the bathroom, dressed in his pajamas and, oh. He said that out loud, didn’t he? They’re in a hotel in Portland, there are no mice, and he and Ryan weren’t just talking.

 

He feels like he’s losing his fucking mind. In a way, he absently thinks, he sort of _is_.

 

He’s on six days of no sleep. Six days of no food. He can't concentrate, can’t stop shaking, can’t move fast enough, can’t think fast enough. He’s blacking out, hallucinating. Their search of the building went shittily, hes of no help.

 

He doesn’t know how much longer his body can do this, before it finally gives out.

 

And it’s that thought that fucking does it.

 

Stumbling forward, he raises his arms, (they won’t stop fucking shaking), and fucking collapses against Ryan, holding as tightly as he can. Ryan, for his part, only seems shocked for .5 seconds before he’s returning the hug with just as much ferocity. He maneuvers them over to the bed while Shane tries not to cry.

 

“Hey, Shane, it’s okay, we’ll kick this curse’s ass.”

 

Hugging Ryan tighter, Shane whispers out, “I feel like I’m fucking dying.”

 

“Dude, you can’t die. And even if you do, I’ll contact you with the spirit box!” Shane can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood, he lets out a wet little laugh.

 

“I’ll just say something stupid, like ‘spaghetti’.”

 

Ryan snorts, “I’m actually surprised it’s a custard maniac that’s getting to you, you stole a demon’s bridge. You’re totally powerful and cool, you won’t die.”

 

Shane pauses, letting the words sink in.“I can’t sleep, but if I actually fucking die in a couple days I don’t want to miss out on this. Holding you stops the shaking. Would you just… ugh.” Shane throws himself and Ryan down on the bed, and scooches closer to Ryan until he is practically melded to Shane’s frame.

 

“I…” Ryan stops, then starts to clutch at Shane just as tightly. “Yeah. Yes. Cool.”

 

Shane really hopes this isn’t another hallucination.

 

***

 

They’re back to combing through the abandoned building, lifting up debris, trying to find an errant symbol or something that could represent a curse. Shane’s checking behind the counter, and when he turns to leave, his foot hits something metallic and kicks it across the floor. It’s an… extremely shiny object. The… scoop. If his scattered mind is remembering correctly.

 

Fucking wait.

 

It takes him a lot longer than it usually would, give him some credit he’s like 6-7 days overdue for a nap, but he holds his body up by the counter so he can stop swaying and _think_ . He… picked up the scoop - the scoop that is _far_ to clean and shiny to exist in this dump, then he opens his stupid fat mouth, and then… well, fuck. He stumbles over to the stupid thing to grab it, but the minute his fingers touch it, he’s burned. He gasps in surprise and tries to pull his hand back, but realizes he can’t. He can’t fucking move. He tries to open his mouth to call to Ryan but nothing will come out and he _burns_ . The fire is starting to crawl up his arm, around his shoulder, to his chest and - he knows if this shit engulfs him he’ll be fucking gone. He’s stuck there, in agony, unable to move, and he’s fully prepared for his last thought on earth to be _‘fuck me I never even got to make out with Ryan’_ when he hears boards snapping and someone swearing and… tripping? Over to him and -

 

“PISS OFF CURSE SCUM.” And then Shane is soaked in holy water. He immediately moves to clear out his eyes and he realizes, he can move again. And there’s no burning. Huh.

 

“Told you Twill and I would save your ass.” Ryan puts in a show of blowing fake smoke from his now empty water gun, twirls it three times, drops it, acts like he didn’t drop it, and slides it back into the holster. “Huh. Wasn’t this think less… gross?” Looking down at the scoop, both Shane and Ryan watch as it gets covered in rust and disintegrates away. “Hah, stupid curse going against us at _Unsolved_. Father Thomas personally blesses all my holy wa-“

 

Ryan doesn’t hear anything else, because he promptly passes out from overexhaustion.

 

When he wakes, he’s back in the hotel room. He can hear Ryan start moving in the background, along with a couple of beeps. Sitting up, he glances at the room while stretching, the time is- holyshit. If he isn’t fucking mistaken he just slept 24 straight hours. His teeth feel fuzzy. He should brush them.

 

He’s not really able to act upon that thought when a paper plate full of microwaved pizza is thrust under his nose. Looking up, he sees Ryan waggling his eyebrows while sporting a huge, stupid, cute grin.

 

_Fuck._

 

He tears into that pizza like no tomorrow, he’s gone a straight week without eating and he’s fucking hungry. He pays for his overzealousness five minutes later when he has the worst stomach ache. Groaning, he plops backwards down onto the bed as closes his eyes, pizza plate forgotten and left to fall on the floor.

 

“Hey, that’s better than an allergic reaction.” Ryan scooches onto the bed with him. Shane moans in painful agreement.

 

“Hey. Uh.” Shane opens one eye to look at Ryan. “Never fucking do that again, okay?”

 

Shane lifts his head off the pillow so he can get a full look at Ryan. He stops when he realizes there are tears in his eyes.

 

“Like, we’re supposed to gather evidence and look into paranormal shit, I _get_ that, but we’re not supposed to _become_ the evidence. Watching you fall apart was fucking awful. You’re never allowed to touch anything ever again and we’re getting blessed by a priest after every case.” Ryan laughs wetly, “Besides, you’re supposed to be the calm stoic one in this partnership.”

 

Shane feels his chest warming. At a loss for words he blurts, “ _Just_ a partnership?” And then immediately cursed himself for his lack of suavality. Wait, shit, no. He’s had enough of curses for a while.

 

“Sure,” Ryan’s got a shit eating grin on his face, “friendship as well.”

 

“You know what I mean, asshole.”

 

“Yeah,” Ryan leans in closer, “I do.” Their lips meet and it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, better than the microwaved pizza after a week of no food.

 

***

 

_‘We regret to inform you that since you did not give 24 hours notice to your inability to make your appointment, you have been charged a total of 215 dollars as a fee. Thank you for choosing our clinic!’_

 

Pulling his phone away from his ear in disgust, Shane angrily presses the button to turn the screen off. This shit has been happening with everyone except Ryan. Nobody at the office remembers the hazelnut incident. Bernice doesn’t remember giving him one of her epipens. The doctor apparently didn’t even meet with him. He supposes it makes sense, for the curse. If the Cassidy family were able to find legitimate medical help they would have probably lived. Fuck curses.

 

“Fuck curses.” He closes the window on his computer where he was checking his bank statement.

 

“Why fuck curses when you could fuck me.” Ryan chirps from his desk.

 

Someone in the office wolf whistles. Shane finds Brent staring at them and gives him the smuggest look he can conjure up, causing him to stomp off in a rush.

  
This was all fucking worth it. But seriously though, _fuck curses_.


End file.
